Turning like Clockwork
by Justice237
Summary: "... like one of those malenky toys you viddy being sold in the streets, like little chellovecks made out of tin and with a spring inside and then a winding handle on the outside and you wind it up and off it itties ..." Alex's suicide attempt did have permanent repercussions, how will they alter his life? R&R
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first A Clockwork Orange fanfic and also my first fanfic in quite a while, so forgive me if it's not that good. I've fallen in love with the book and the movie and all the little analytical details Kubrick put into his visual directing, and I can't help but love our Humble Psychopathic Narrator - HUGE props to Anthony Burgess, Stanley Kubrick and Malcolm McDowell for not only bringing this character to life accurately, but making him so likeable whilst doing so.**

**This was inspired by the line in the book that said, "But I cracked my back and my wrists and my nogas …". Presumably, when he said he broke his back, it wasn't a spinal injury, as in the book he is later shown to be able to physically function just as he did before he was 'cured'. But I can't help but think, what if Alex did sustain some permanent side effects from his suicide attempt? What would happen to him now?**

**I do not own the masterpiece that is A Clockwork Orange or any of its characters. They are the sole property of the late, great Anthony Burgess and Stanley Kubrick. I'm not trying to outdo them, I am merely writing this for fun. Please, enjoy.**

The Ninth was still blasting away like bezoomny to my left, and it was inflicting that horrible pain and sickness that shouldn't be there all over my plott, O my brothers. It was like a million britvas were like slicing into me and cutting into all my main cables and my keeshkas were like cleaving in on themselves, and all I could do was to creech very gromky to turn it off, turn it off, and that made me feel even worse because I had creeched the same slovos during the grahzny vonny Ludovico Technique. Then I stopped like banging my gulliver on the floor and I viddied the windows just above me.

Suddenly, I viddied what I had to do, and what I had wanted to do, and that was to do myself in; to snuff it, to blast off for ever out of this wicked cruel world. One moment of pain perhaps, and then sleep. For ever, and ever and ever.

I got up and staggered over to the window, that being very hard, me being in so much pain, and I climbed up onto the sill and managed to open the window. It was a long drop, but long enough to kill a veck? Only one way to find out, as the starry vecks say. I crouched on the malenky ledge outside the window, and it was so cold up there, O my brothers, it being November and all that cal, and I closed my glazzies, bowed my gulliver and felt the cold wind through my voloss and on my litso, and I suddenly felt very poogly of what like waited for me after death, so I couldn't help but creech one last, long creech as I jumped.

-ACO-

I jumped, O my brothers, and I fell hard, but I did not snuff it, oh no. If I had snuffed it I would not be here to have told you what I have told. Turns out that long drop wasn't long enough to kill a veck, but it did do something else that has stayed with me since then. I came back to jeenzy, you see, after a long black, black gap of what might have been a million years. My glazzies were at first all cally with sleepglue, but after a minoota I could viddy that I was in a hospital and that most of my plott was like bound up in white and I couldn't move nor feel, O my brothers, and also standing over me were a nurse and a doctor veck and the nurse was hastily buttoning her uniform over her groodies. They were like inspecting my plott and all these bezoomny machines around me, and I could viddy that I was like hooked up to these machines by wires, and that unpleasantly reminded me of the horrible Ludovico Technique. My gulliver and my jaw was covered in like plaster, so I could not govoreet well as my rot was all stiff. I found this out when I tried to ask them what was happening but it came out like er er er and all that cal.

So when these lewdies were finished, they ittied off and left Your Poor Suffering Humble Narrator all on his oddy knocky. I was getting some feeling back in my plott now, O my brothers, and it was just a malenky pain in my gulliver and in my torso - but I still couldn't feel anything in my nogas, and I was just that malenky bit confused as to why, but I put that down to them being in a lot of bandage and plaster and all that cal. Eventually I got some spatchka, and when I dreamed, I dreamed of beating up a whole lot of real starry chellovecks, like the ones who like tolchocked me at the Biblio, and I felt real horrorshow, no pain or sickness. But in the middle of all this ultraviolence I found that my nogas would not hold me up anymore. I didn't feel like all paralysed with pain in sickness like the dream I had in the Ludovico centre, as I could still move my rookers, but I could no longer stand, O my brothers, and that frightened me just a malenky bit, but I like shook that off, as I whipped out my cut throat britva and started like slicing into all these starry vecks' nogas instead, all red red krovvy flowing, and it was real beautiful.

-ACO-

The next day was tiring, O my brothers. When I woke up I felt a malenky bit better, not so much pain, but I still could not feel anything in my nogas. This nurse ptitsa came to me after I had my breakfast of eggiwegs and toast, all smiley and real horrorshow, and I would've taken to her right away if I had not taken to traitorous Dr. Branom the same way. She like straightened the bedsheets and I govoreeted to her:

"How long have I been in here?"

"A week or so," she said.

"And what's happened? What have these bezoomny vecks been doing to my plott?"

When I govoreeted that last bit, she like stared at me like she was confused, and I realised that she probably didn't understand nadsat talk, so I said:

"What have these crazy men been doing with my body?"

"Oh," she said, "you've sustained several bruises and severe concussion and you've lost a lot of blood. The bruises and the concussion are mostly healed now, and you've had a blood transfusion, so that's pretty much all fixed. You've also broken all four limbs and a few ribs." I did not kopat all of this, brothers, and I felt it necessary to next ask this devotchka:

"Why can't I feel anything in my legs?"

Then she like looked a bit poogly, and I still didn't kopat why, O my brothers, when she suddenly averted her glazzies and bit her goobers. I wasn't liking this one malenky bit, and I govoreeted:

"Come on, spit it out. I know you're hiding something from me."

She looked at me again, and I was surprised to viddy like tears in her glazzies, and when she govoreeted, it was very quiet, like a whisper: "The reason you can't feel anything in your legs is because ... you broke your spine, damaging the spinal cord. They had to sever it completely ... you would've only suffered more otherwise. You've been left ... paraplegic."

**So, what do you think? Good? Bad? Ugly? Leave me a review and let me know if I should continue or not. **

**In the meantime, viddy well.**

**Katie**


	2. Chapter 2

**Next chapter! I don't know much about how nurses and doctors may act, I tried looking in the book for reference, but that didn't help very much because obviously they didn't have to give Alex the news that they have to give him now, so if you have any advice or otherwise constructive criticism, leave me a review. Criticise though, don't flame. And to Guest, yes, I did use Burgess's Nadsat glossary. Thanks to SoSorryJoeyJr for the help!**

"Paraplegic?" It was my turn to be confused now, O my brothers, for I had never heard that slovo before, but I didn't like the sound of it one malenky bit.

"You can't walk," she replied.

I rolled my glazzies at her. "Well of course I can't walk, all broken and bandaged up like this."

"No," she said. "I mean that you've lost the ability to move your legs in any way, meaning that you'll never walk again."

"What?" I didn't kopat all that she was govoreeting about, brothers, because I could feel my glazzies falling shut again and my brain was all like uncoordinated. "Leave me alone, I need to get some spatchka."

She ittied away, and when I dreamed they were like the starry days when I was a free young malchick, crasting and tolchocking and dratting and the old in-out and all that real horrorshow stuff, except this time I was all on my oddy knocky, no so-called droogs in sight, brothers. But I found that I couldn't run that skorry because my nogas were all like weak, but my rookers and my cut-throat britva knew their way around making all these vecks and ptitsas creech like blue murder. And all this time, brothers, apart from the pained golosses of all these lewdies, all I could slooshy was lovely Bach and Handel and Mozart and Rossini and above all, lovely lovely Ludwig Van and the beautiful Ninth Symphony.

-ACO-

Eventually I woke again, and I viddied my pee and em had come to viddy their like injured son, my em platching and boohoohooing her old tick-tocker out. But I had more important things to focus on, brothers, so I said:

"Well well well, what gives, my pee and em? What makes you think you are welcome?"

"You were in the papers again, son," said my papapa, in a very like ashamed way. "They said that the Government drove you to try and do yourself in. And it was our fault too, in a way, son. You home's your home, when all is said and done, son."

My em was still snivelling away real horrorshow, but she managed to like stop platching for a little while. She focused her glazzies on me and said, "Alex, do you remember that little girl in the park several years ago? You were about five and you went up to her and asked why she was in a wheelchair. It was because her back had been damaged while she was being born."

I remembered that malenky ptitsa, as well as the tears in her glazzies when she had govoreeted why she was in that wheelchair. It seemed like a lot of bezoomny cal to me, but I nodded my gulliver at her.

"You doctor told us …" then she broke down again, brothers, her red and wrinkled litso as ugly as kiss-my-sharries.

My papa finished for her, although he was as poogly as that nurse ptitsa, "Dr. Blackburn told us that you had irreparably damaged your spinal cord when you fell, and they had to sever it completely as leaving it would've only caused you more problems. You're like that little girl now, Alex."

At first I just looked at him like he was govoreeting a lot fo medical cal, then I realised what he really meant and I felt sick."You mean," I managed to govoreet, "I'll never walk again?" The thought of having to like itty around in a wheelchair for the rest of my jeenzy was not a welcome one, brothers, and I soon found myself like shaking and I knew I had to sick up so I shifted my broken plott over the bed and that made me feel even worse because I felt pains all over myself and as I like threw up I felt tears coming out of my glazzies and I almost felt like platching out loud just a malenky bit.

"Visiting time's up," said this whitecoated ptitsa, coming over to like escort my pee and em out. "You're upsetting him."

After my pee and em had left, she turned to me with a smile. "Good day, Alex."

**I've decided to cut it off here because I don't know where else to end it. I wasn't sure how I could continue this, which is why I didn't update for some time, but major, major thanks to SoSorryJoeyJr for the help with getting this running again.**

**Viddy well.**

**Katie**


	3. Chapter 3

"Morning missus," I govereeted back to her in my gentleman's goloss. Well, I tried to do that, brothers, but the inside of my rot was all dry and cally with this horrible sour taste and my glazzies were stinging a bit.

"I'm Dr. Taylor, your psychiatrist," she said.

I cheered up somewhat, brothers, over the next 30 minutes as she showed me all like these slides with pictures of lewdies creeching because they were being tolchoked, all red red krovvy everywhere, and she asked me what I thought about them, and I said that I would like to be in on that. Those violent slides reminded me of the old happy days when I was a free young malchick and my droogs weren't traitors. It made me a malenky bit sad that those days were all like in the past and over.

"That's enough," she said eventually. "I have my results. You seem to be cured."

"Cured?" I asked her. "All broken up like this and you say cured? Kiss my sharries is what I say."

"No no no," she replied, smiling. "Did you feel sick when I showed you those slides?"

I frowned at her, shaking my gulliver.

"Then you're cured."

I liked that messel very much at first, but then I remembered what my pee and em had told me earlier, about me not being able to walk. "But," I govereeted, "I won't be able to do any of that, will I? I won't be able to go crasting and drasting and tolchoking and spatting and all that stuff. I can't ever live my jeenzy how I want to! Because I can't bloody wal- OW!" I was getting razdrez and I had slammed my broken rooker on the bed.

"Oh Alex," she said in her sweet goloss, patting me on the pletcho. "Don't think like that. Lots of people who can't walk can still live happily!"

I seriously doubted this, brothers. Living without nogas seemed bezoomny at best, oozhassny at worst. When she went away, I started thinking, letting my rassoodock wander. I started remembering that winter nochy two years ago, one of the worst nochys of my jeenzy. Me tolcocking that old soomka with the fake zubrick, avoiding all the kots and bowls of moloko around the domy, the sight of my three droogs waiting for me outside. But most of all, I remembered Dim. I remember him smashing the bottle of moloko over my litso, the glass shiving into me, the cold moloko running down my shirt. I remembered the millicents and their like sirens and golosses as they looked down upon a wounded and creeching young veck. That memory replayed over and over again, like a broken record in my gulliver. But then there came a time when my droogs ran away and left me to get loveted - and no-one came. I couldn't even slooshy the sounds of the rozzes' autos. There was just me, all on my oddy knocky. Just me and my krovvy and my pain. Eventually I couldn't like hold it in any longer. I felt my cut and krovvy litso crumple and I started platching. I was platching so hard that my whole plott was shaking.

"Alex, Alex! Wake up!"

My wet glazzies snapped open and I saw the Minister of the Interior or Inferior standing in front of me and I realized I must have fallen asleep again and that it was his rooker shaking me.

**I'm writing this at quarter to midnight, which is why it feels a little lazy at the beginning. I skimmed over that part because I wanted to get to writing the good stuff. Sorry this chapter is so short, it's just that I have exams from May 14th-May 20th, so I'm gonne be dedicating more time to revision. I have a rough outline in my head though, which should help motivate me a bit more.**

**Also, if your 5th favourite movie is The Lego Movie, you like FNAF and you have an OC named Emilee, thanks a bunch, although you are the reason I'm still writing this at ten to midnight. LOL jk, I love you man.**

**Viddy well**

**Katie.**


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